


Bowline

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond finds the guards made a mistake.





	Bowline

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Visits to the Woodland Realm always test Elrond’s patience. When he can help it, he much prefers to stay at home and send Erestor or even the twins in his stead. Unfortunately, sometimes Thranduil simply demands a fellow lord’s presence, and Elrond has put the invitation off for far too long. The last time he stood in Thranduil’s halls, he was several centuries younger. Arwen was still young enough to enjoy traveling with her father, and Lindir wasn’t yet in his employ. Things have changed little in the years since. Thranduil is still difficult, haughty, and entirely too interested in wine. By the time their private dinner ends, far too late into the night, Elrond is at his wits end. 

He hides it well, of course. He walks through the towering corridors at a leisurely pace, pretending to take in the starlit sights, and he makes no complaint at having to walk alone. In Imladris, he always allows the servants to attend even the greatest of affairs. If he’d had Lindir by his side, the night might have been more bearable. 

He knows things will only get worse when he reaches his guest quarters and is stopped by the guard outside. There should be no reason for such guards—Thranduil claims that his keep is as safe as Imladris itself, and yet, there seem to be sentries everywhere. The young woman beside Elrond’s door dips low in a formal bow and rises to inform him, “We apologize, Lord Elrond, but it seems a rogue thief attempted entry into your quarters. We assure you he does not represent our kind here—we did not recognize him as one of us.”

The guard on the other side interjects, “Perhaps he followed your party to our realm. Do not worry; we have bound him and left him inside, awaiting whatever punishment you deem fit. And we promise that such an incident will not arise again.”

Elrond simply looks between them, waiting for the joke—Thranduil does have an odd sense of humour. But both guards look completely serious. After a lengthy pause, Elrond says only, “Thank you,” and sweeps curiously inside. 

The heavy oak doors swing shut behind him. His eyes fall to the radiant creature bound and gagged in the center of the room. Elrond’s heart skips a beat, half from surprise and half in concern. 

His sweet assistant is kneeling on the hard floor, trim arms pulled taut behind his back and tied all the way from shoulder to fingertip. His wrists are pressed against his ankles, his robes wrinkled and brought past his knees to allow for the tying of his legs. The rope loops around his slender throat, branding him with the collar of an animal, even drawn around his handsome face. It cuts across his mouth, wedged between his open lips, and wraps behind his ears and back again, effectively muzzling him. His chin rests against his chest, but it lifts at Elrond’s entrance, watery eyes flickering over. Elrond lurches to life. 

He all but storms across the room, inwardly fuming. The Woodland Realm has long been too elitist for his liking, but he would never have expected them to mistake his lovely assistant for some common thief. Thranduil will certainly hear of it in the morning, if not immediately. Elrond comes to sit beside Lindir and tries to untie the rope behind his head as gently as possible without tugging at his hair. The rope has caught in a few stray strands, and Lindir does groan into his gag, eliciting a pitying, “My apologies,” from Elrond. As soon as he’s loosened the knot enough, he tugs the muzzle away. 

Lindir gasps in the air, his jaw working sorely open and closed. Elrond lifts one hand to softly rub beneath it, vainly wanting to soothe any ache away. Lindir leans gratefully into the touch and murmurs a shuddering, “My lord...”

“I am so sorry,” Elrond answers. His other hand comes to trace soft circles on Lindir’s back, wanting to give Lindir a moment’s breath before he attempts the other knots. “This is a terrible thing, and I will see that you are given the apologies and respect that you deserve...”

Lindir smiles brokenly. It’s a beautiful thing, and it makes Elrond’s chest clench. His pretty songbird has never deserved anything but kindness. Yet Lindir quietly tells him, “Thank you, my lord... but... it is not so terrible. I am only a humble servant, and the mistake is understandable. Please, do not trouble yourself on my behalf.”

Elrond can’t even answer such a ridiculous statement. Instead, he presses a chaste kiss to Lindir’s forehead, hoping to convey just how much more than a simple servant Lindir is. Lindir smiles warmly at it and flushes a faint pink across his cheeks. He even adds in an embarrassed whisper, “I do not, ah... I would not even mind this treatment, to be honest, if you were the one to administer it.”

Elrond assures him, “I would never treat you this way, my Lindir. Such roughness is unacceptable.”

“They were not rough with me,” Lindir says. His gaze flickers away, as it tends to do when he feels abashed. His blush darkens, and Elrond patiently waits for him to murmur the rest. “They meant to leave me to your hand... and if you were to bind me this way, I... I confess, I did find the idea somewhat... thrilling?” He says the last part guiltily, delicate brows drawing up. Elrond takes a moment to puzzle out that statement. 

Just to be sure, he carefully rephrases, “You would wish me to tie you...?”

“I would wish you to do anything and everything to me,” Lindir whispers. Elrond can hear the waver in his voice, but also the breathlessness. “To be before you like this, utterly helpless and vulnerable to your whims... I find it, ah... I admit it is having an unexpected effect...”

Elrond lets out a long sigh. In general, his Lindir is a gentle soul, every bit as quiet and peaceful as his lord, and their affair has been a tender one. But every now and then, Lindir does surprise him, and Elrond, thoroughly grateful for the gift he’s been given in his young lover, does try to indulge that. 

First, Elrond runs his hands down Lindir’s arms. Lindir gasps and trembles as Elrond’s fingers skate around the binding, testing their tightness and grazing beneath them, making sure that there are no bruises forming. He finds the Woodland guards did a humane job, though perhaps an overzealous one. Only when Elrond’s sure that there will be no lasting damage does he decide to allow this particular oddity.

He carefully scoops Lindir into his arms, earning a sharp but pleasant hitch of breath. He carries Lindir over to the bed and sets him lovingly down amongst the pillows, making sure that he’s comfortable before pulling back. 

After that, Elrond asks, “Now, my love... what else do you wish me to do to you?”


End file.
